After today, there’s just tomorrow. How did we get through April so fast?
For today’s prompt, take a line from one of your poems (preferably one of your April poems), make it the title of your poem today, and then, write the poem.
Here’s my attempt:
“unseen until after they’re spent”
moments without any longing
erase the hours but don’t make
anything better less lonesome
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Writing poetry is exciting, but the hard work of poeming is working through the revision process. The best way to work through this process is to workshop the poems with other poets, and that can be done with the Writer’s Digest 6-week course, Advanced Poetry Writing.
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Want some more poeming fun? Check out these previous Poetic Asides posts:
We dream dance
our troubles away
drift in a daze
Waiting reality reef
In dream, we escape
the day, memory loss
coping with routine
your ever blank glance
no longer seeing our faces.
We watch your daily trance,
where nothing changes
no new ideas emerge.
Each shattered thought a lance
and we dream dance.
Troubles multiply
compounded by the math impaired daughter
coping with taxes and beyond
each number each figure weigh
heavy on my mind as I struggle
to keep your finances from going astray.
I look at my unbalanced check book and life,
throw up my hands
and watch my hair going gray
keeping troubles away.
I wish I could escape
dream a little for me
must one down day,
watch your eyes glaze
and watch another nothing day.
Know that this is an eroding phase.
That the memories of today
will be the last leaf falling
deeper into a mind maze
as we drift in a daze.
Together we are locked
mind of youth
mind of age
linked for a rare brief
connected thought and then
it shatters again, thought leaf
falling again to the autumn disease.
Trees of your mind are shorn,
stolen by time thief
and I wait reality reef.
Only Yesterday
Was it yesterday?
I saw the light
within your eyes
slowly dim
until it died.
No words spoken,
a silent heart
sucked dry,
for love itself
that day did die.
The Power of That Spell
The one you attempted to cast on me,
Was a trine of indefinite power.
I escaped only with my innocence,
And a fragrant, blue aura of violets.
What If She Couldn’t Find The Broom
The gravity depends entirely
on whether said broom
was needed for crumbs under the table
in the late morning of a June day
or for transportation
at eight in the evening
on October thirty first.
Hopefully Spring
Will pop out
from this winter rollercoaster
that keeps coming back
like a bad dream
after too much
pizza.
Five minutes too old
Chartreuse flowers on the hill,
swimming in the meadow swill,
into this my blood stood still…
like winter’s chill
5 minutes too old.
The dancing of the sun’s delights,
pictures tall behind the nights,
deception lies before her sights…
and she still writes
5 minutes too old.
Serenade me till I sleep,
the moon shall hold me in it’s keep,
and if perchance I dream too deep…
Just let them weep
5 minutes too old.
The air has grown a bitter cold,
with beauty’s stories left untold,
there’s more to find in any fold…
Life to hold
5 minutes too old.
the asparagus are late
this year. so are the lilac
and narcissi, the wisteria
curling purple clusters
over my porch railing,
the rhubarb buried deep
in frosted earth.
but the asparagus!
my barometer of spring,
my hope for end
of winter’s bitter dark.
each morn I rush through
grass dew-wet to inspect
earth cracked, the primordial
stones belching forth
to make room for slim
spears of mauve and green
but only garlic weed stinks
the air, dandelion chokes
the earth’s furrows.
this worries me.
the asparagus are late
this year.
“the hunter in heart’s prey”
When fear abandons
a little pain devastates
Embrace the ruins
The first line is from the Express poem of April Challenge Day 17.
I am a beast that runs
but some run farther, faster.
I run in circles of convention
in the bright light of the early hour.
Sun blinds my eyes, nose points down the road,
feet turn where?
No, that’s from whence I came–
that’s where I was. I say let’s fly, let’s swim
somewhere, anywhere new. Another place with different dawns,
where herds of clouds stampede across the valleys,
where pebbled beaches fling their rocky arms out and embrace the ocean.
Here I am.
I am a beast that runs
on the inside
ever yearning, on the inside
ever striving.
Odysseus had nothing on me.
He traveled and battled across the far-flingen regions of Greece.
Coming home killed him—home,
where Penelope had had to stay.
Penelope, the good wife who remained home.
What if she, too, were the beast?
Maybe she was. Strongest woman on Earth, married to a
man who learned to live only away–
only far away. He learned in twenty years
how to survive
running.
But she was stronger—twenty years waiting,
running in place.
That’s what I do.
I run in the place where I am.
I am a beast that runs.
I had a hard time picking one line, so I went one further and also incorporated a line from a previous poem into each stanza
All The Pretty Girls
In Sunday dresses
unconsciously
flirting with the
soft movement of the
velveteen curves
of their shoulders
Never apart,
they glance at you
from under the
fanned fringes
of kohl blackened
eyelashes
nodding in
silent acquiescence,
too loud
laughter tinkling
in the noon day sun
You notice how
they linger,
their feet dragging
across the wet grass
pulling at every sucking step
You long to
for more, to fight
for their attention
unaware how it’s
all an act
how every night is
spent fighting off the
ghosts crouching in the dark
The ending startled me, which is, I guess, what you intended. Great imagery. Thanks for sharing.
Passin Through the Dark
On the road to
your heart were
many obstacles to
overcome
“Just an autonomous reaction”
This was not scripted
Not even expected
Wasn’t conceived in a torrents of thoughts
Just an uncontrollable motion
Just an errant reaction
It just happened
Wasn’t looking or searching
The dreams was on pause
The feeling long numb
You can’t always choose
The moment love is found
“Into the Statue of Liberty’s torch”
-KB
Sometimes I imagine
what life would be like
if I had decided to leave home
apply and go to NYU
lead a life of sophistication
become what I dared
to dream of becoming
instead of pursuing the path
of safety
and defining my own dreams
and discovering new destinies
within my reach.
Nonetheless,
I still have the potential
to leap–
no, soar–
into the stars,
nestled into the city skyline
amongst the flames of
Lady Liberty’s torch.
Very nice imagery here.Makes me think of Emma Lazarus’s line about the lamp lifted beside the golden door, illuminating the possibilities beyond one’s reach.
Sandy saw the zeroes
All that watching TLC finally paid off
When she saw the store clerk’s eyes rise
Who has time for diamonds when
Coupons are a poor girl’s best friend
The bags of fruit, veggies and seven
Mayonnaise jars didn’t cost a dime
Her smile was more of a shit eatin’ kind
Sandy loves and hates like a popcorn kernel
Spending her free time counting bristles on the ground
Except for when she runs out of sugar for her coffee
Then watch out world, this gal’s got the power
To level more than just a playing field
But no worries today, today is a good day
The sugar was on sale, with a double back guarantee
She’ll have no problem adding an extra teaspoon
To her cracked “Best Mom in the World” mug of Nescafe
Pretty Boy, They Called Him
Dimpled cheeks, skin of peach
he was their darling
baby boy
Neighbors oohed and ahed,
cooed in his ear,
so sweet, so sweet
Pretty Boy started school,
teacher’s pet on his first day,
he learned to play
Pretty Boy made a leap;
manhood stole the child.
How egotistical, they cried.
Poetic Asides
April Challenge – Day 29
Take a line from an April poem, make it the title,
and then write the poem.
“Manhood stole the child.” Love that line.
A MOMENT IN YOUR SKIN
I feel like I been rode hard and hung up dry.
Sumpin’ gotta give.
I’m fixin’ to go to church agin.
The one what got me some clothes
Fer free
‘n a crib fer baby Hollis.
Them folks is real nice.
Reeeel nice.
Pastor Dave was real proud’a me too.
I tole him I ain’t turned a trick in a week.
I’m proud of my own self, too.
But I ain’t fer sher how long I can be holdin’ out.
I mean — I ain’t above my raisin’,
After all.
(“A moment in your skin” from April 8th.)
I love this. It feels authentic, not just the lingo, but the sentiments.
Thank you so much. I must say, your encouragement out here has been nothing short of amazing. I, for one, am so grateful!
Thanks for saying that. It surely works both ways. I’m new to this entire scene, the Brewer blog, I mean, so this has been a revelation.
Maria, I like this voice. Who knew? It does read authentically right.
This isn’t a poem, but I just want to express my admiration and amazement at all of talent. It certainly is incredible that we have so many poets who are able to turn a simple prompt into pure genius. This has been a fun NaPoWriMo so far.
Have enjoyed your postings here very much!
I guess I’m the only one here who has no idea what a NaPoWriMo is. Sounds like a cookie.
Here you go, PressOn: http://www.napowrimo.net/
Oh, so that’s it! Lots of cookies. Thanks.
You have a poet’s brain: it DOES sound like a cookie!
My Flesh is Your Flesh Refined
Old man,
sitting in your chair
stuffed into your corner
sifting the cold whiskey
and colder ice
into your bearded face,
you are me
I see in your hands
the line that made me
and the line that forever
rest in yours,
curled around a
forgotten memory,
stagnated in a cool pond
and allowed to float.
It is in this spot, you and
I shall remain at odds,
housed under the same roof
that conjoined us.
This leaves me feeling cold; not for the writing, which is vibrant, but for the feeling it delivers.Intentionally, I presume. Very effective.
THE STARS ARE JUST BEYOND OUR REACH
——————————————————————-
We have our dreams,
We have our plans;
We can almost hold them
In our hands.
And yet they run through our fingers
Like sand on the beach.
The stars are just
Beyond our reach.
If I could jump
To grab just one,
The fabric of the universe
Would come undone.
Maybe it’s best
They’re where they are;
Beyond our reach
Is the closet star.
This is superb, in my opinion. I hear music in it.
From my poem, “Posts”
Had to twist them
Had to twist them
words like light bulbs
As I tried to make them see
the fears, the hope, the love
that swirl inside of me.
Great image.
Amen to that.
The Secrets I Told You
I want
them to gut you,
leave you hollow – aching…
to unfurl inside you like two
dark wings
and unravel your fragile seams.
I want you festering
like an old wound—
like me.
Wow!
Yes, for both the imagery and the use of the cinquain.
I get tired of the echo’s from the past
The persistent drumming, drumming
The reverberations vibrating through me
Slamming me
Screaming at me
Then that persistent whisper
“You can do better”
“It’s not enough”
“Try harder”
You can do bet ter, you can do bet ter
It is not e nough, it is not e nough
Try har der, try har der
The chant echos, echos, echos, echos
Drumming, drumming
Pounding, pounding
The reverberation from the past slamming me
Echos screaming “NOT ENOUGH”
Excellent job creating the sounds. Nice sensory language.
You’ve captured this and made me feel it with you. Well done.
Sounds like my brain–those thots are so hard to stifle.
Utter power here. Wonderful.
Blackness That Permeates
Moon is smothered
by deep clouds
But your moods
are darker still
Ooh–good one.
“End of Story”
Or is it?
Legendary –
that’s what they were.
Two mismatched souls
united by soft jazz and
smoky conversations
that lasted over 50 years
leaving behind those
who reflect their love
magnifying what was
into what is now –
making the story
never-ending!
Love it, especially the “soft jazz and smoky conversations.”
You Think It’s Going To Be a Simple Walk
When you start off at midnight just to walk down the block
before tuning in, you think that it will be a simple walk.
You wear night clothes and flip flops planning to unwind,
breathe the heavy humid air, and maybe hear
the barred owl that often hunts along the creek.
But then the jerk throws a beer bottle out his truck
window. It shatters at your feet and you stand stunned
wondering what you had done to trigger such rage.
Was it the torn t-shirt and lack of underwear? Did you
offend his fashion sense? The glass sparkles at your feet
under the street light and you suddenly feel like running
straight into the universe, into that black hole that hums
57 octaves below middle C, just as the Hindus always knew.
And you think, in your outrage, you just might hear it
as it blows through your head, slamming out thoughts
of vengeance leaving clear, sweet harmony and the echoing call
of a predatory owl, hunting along the creek.
Wow! This is full of stark imagery, back and forth.
Before I Knew You, Life Was Uncertain
Before I knew you, life was uncertain
pain was everyday, life was completely grey
Before I knew you, life was uncertain
darkness surrounded me, terror was my life
Before I knew you, life was uncertain
confusion plagued me, the struggle engulfed my soul
Before i knew you,life was uncertain
I didn’t truly know what love was, not until the day I met you
Before I knew you, life was uncertain
day after day, night after night, minute after minute, second after second
Before i knew you, life was uncertain
now that I have you life is definitely a blessing.
From the only poem I’ve written this year based on the mechanical prompt: the line- direction to nowhere
Direction to Nowhere
As soon as the words “I’m going to the store” are loosed from my lips
I turn into a volcano with great rumbles of swirling lava
churning beneath my surface.
Where I want to go is far away.
Maybe the coast to a seaside shanty on a remote stretch of beach
where only long time locals live and I will
become one of them.
Maybe the mountains to a cottage hidden in the valley below
with great oaks to shelter me
from life’s storms.
Where I go is nowhere I want to be.
Love this one.
Yes
A line from “I am more than this”. Inspired, in part, by all the horrific “you deserve rape” stuff I’ve been seeing. It’s appalling to me that the way a woman dresses or looks could ever be “asking for it.”
LOVELINESS THAT HIDES
Behind the burka
is a face
too lovely
Beneath the skirt
is a treat
too tempting
Between his legs
is a beast
too savage
to control
Fear Makes the Possible Impossible
(another shadorma)
Love, afraid
To accept it, to
Long for its
Sweet embrace
Past hurts hinder future love
Hurdles thrive on fear
“Outside the Institute, a New Painting”
Big Sandburg shoulders–husky, brawling–bowed
by post-modern. Freight-handler tracks are now
a plaza where two jumbo glass-block screens
project Chicago faces. Friendly mouths
spew water. Nothing fearsome, ugly, prayer
inducing: gargoyles celebrate good cheer,
with children splashing in cascading wet
that’s chlorinated. This new downtown’s lean.
The sunrise towels steam from mirrored panes
and buildings bench press sky with steel-beam strength.
Worn seams are better hidden: suit-tie men
flock gem-stoned walks, no painted women lure
fresh farm boys. Parkside daisies wear thick lashes.
Would Chi-city’s poet call tech hunger his?
The title comes from the first line of the second stanza of a WD April poem I wrote concerning Grant Wood’s “American Gothic” in the Art Institute of Chicago. This poem borrows a few images from one of Carl Sandburg’s most famous poems, “Chicago.”
B Peters
Excellent. And I remember that line well.
Great!
“When spring came it melted”
when spring came
it melted my heart
cold so long
forgotten
and then rejuvenation
until snow once more
Wayne L Murphy 4/29/13
Okay Robert, I took your challenge a step further: Both the title and the poem itself are composed of lines from my poems from this month. In other words, I wrote a cento, using lines from twenty of my April poems (including the title).
How Complex You Are
Okay,
I’ll tell you unequivocally,
Nature: I love and hate you.
I’m dopey enough to tell you how I feel.
We’ve breezed through laughter,
slogged through tears,
promises, engagements, hearts,
casting aspersions, doubts, accusations
when you betrayed me. Still I held back rain.
Pessimism loves a vacuum.
The ants are in the peonies again.
Ghost-faced owl dives, curls talons.
Please keep your wrath at bay –
we can’t let the dark possibles dictate us.
Sun plus warm equals melt –
then take a walk, admire daffodils.
Let’s go on a holiday to the borderline.
Our bodies respond with madness,
like a town crier on Doomsday,
lips puffed beyond the natural ,
with fireworks of purple.
This is great and I bet it was a lot of fun to put together
I really like this one. The images really juxtapose nicely.
What an amazing job you did! I can’t believe how easily this flows.
ditto
Great prompt, thanks: http://natasa-summerblues.blogspot.com/2013/04/a-concise-serbian-english-dictionary.html
I get jealous when you laugh
Across the town square
I hear you laughing
If I was paranoid (like they say I am)
I would assume
you know I can hear
You must know
I am in the vicinity
And you laugh to let me know
You still find people amusing
Just not me
I would have liked if you put on the fourth line
If I was paranoid (like they all say I am)
A subtle way to indicate that you’re paranoid.
This reminds me of a book I read once – makes me think of Italy
OUCH.
Exactly
In Stillness, Listening to Words
She tries capturing
True essence of the right phrase
To evoke response
Love this, Valerie.
This keeps coming back like a song.